


Storm

by Inell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Ficlet, Friendship, Post-Hogwarts, The Quidditch Pitch: Leaving Feast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-12
Updated: 2006-01-12
Packaged: 2018-10-26 08:24:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10783116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inell/pseuds/Inell
Summary: Memories never die, they merely fade until certain events bring them back





	Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: For [](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=incognito)[**incognito**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/incognito/)‘s [image request](http://www.livejournal.com/users/inell/335391.html?thread=3142943#t3142943)  


* * *

He woke as soon as he heard the loud thunder outside, instantly alert at the sounds of a storm. The bed beside him was empty but, thankfully, still warm. Reaching for his glasses, he sat up, putting them on as his free hand ran through his hair. Rolling out of bed, he stood up, not bothering to put on any clothes, his feet bare against the cold floor.  
  
Harry could see the tall shape by the window, a flash of lightning illuminating the ginger hair his fingers had only recently been gripping tightly. Moving beside Ron, knowing from years of experience that now was not the time to touch him without warning, he looked out the window at the raging storm.  
  
“Didn’t mean to wake you,” Ron muttered, giving him a wry smile before blue eyes once again focused on the flashes of lightning.  
  
“Didn’t,” Harry said simply. He didn’t have to say that he always knew when Ron was in trouble, always knew when the bed was empty, always knew when Ron needed him. They’d never needed words to know all that. With just that wry smile, Harry knew exactly what Ron was thinking. He was remembering the reason he’d been scared of thunderstorms for the past eight years.  
  
Harry hadn’t been at the Burrow when the attack happened, but he’d arrived as soon as he’d heard Lupin and Snape whispering about it, believing they could protect him and Hermione from yet another tragedy. They’d both gone, Hermione apparating them from Grimmauld Place, thankful that she was older and already had her license that Christmas.  
  
The ground had been muddy. That was what he remembered most of all. The house had been burning, aurors all over the place, the smell of magic thick in the air. Molly had been lying in the mud not far from where Ron sat rocking back and forth muttering about lightning. She’d died keeping him and Ginny safe, her body distorted from curses and hexes, a pale pallor to her skin, and Harry still saw her face, along with many others he’d seen during the War, in his nightmares often.  
  
Harry hadn’t seen Arthur or Bill, knowing only from Hermione’s scream that he was glad he hadn’t ventured inside the house, not wanting to see the two men he had respected and considered family dead. He hadn’t been able to get Molly’s face out of his mind as he’d knelt beside Ron and pulled him close. It had been raining still, the sky dark and gray, drops pouring down on them but they’d been oblivious. He’d held Ron, kissing him lightly, knowing there was nothing he could say to make it better.  
  
  
He’d been happy to hear the familiar voices of the twins, weak and raspy but alive. They’d been cursed many times, but they’d managed to survive. Charlie had fared worse than all of them, taking round after round of Crucio in an attempt to protect his family. He’d not been released from St. Mungos for weeks, and hadn’t been allowed to fly for months. Hermione had taken care of him and the twins, and Harry hadn’t been very surprised when she’d come to him shortly before the end of the War and confessed that she’d fallen in love with the handsome dragon keeper.  
  
Reaching over, Harry took Ron’s hand, squeezing it gently, letting him know he wasn’t alone. As the lightning and thunder disrupted the peaceful night outside, Harry once again wished he’d been stronger, that he’d been able to stop Voldemort before that horrible night at the Burrow had happened. A pull on his hand caused him to look away from the window.  
  
Ron was looking at him, his head resting against the glass. As lightning flashed, Harry could see the words that did not need spoken. _It wasn’t your fault, you prat._  
  
 _I love you._  
  
A slight quirking of lips and then Ron nodded once. _Love you, too, even if you’re soppy as fuck._  
  
That’s when he knew it was okay to touch. That smile, no longer wry but still not Ron’s usual grin, told him the memories weren’t as strong and that he needed hug. Harry moved behind him, resting his cheek on Ron’s shoulder blade, his arms wrapping around his lover’s waist.  
  
Ron’s hand rested on his, squeezing tightly, his body relaxing as he watched the storm. No longer quite so afraid of the memories that merely fade and never die.


End file.
